A Dragon in Chains
by Ramzes
Summary: Between two Blackfyre Rebellions, Targaryens and Blackfyres clash again. This time, the weapons are not swords and arrows but words and secrets. And the Seven Kingdoms might once again pay the price. Another spinoff from my story One to Love.
1. Chapter 1

This story takes place immediately after the end of A Dragon Reborn.

**A Dragon in Chains**

Chapter 1

"We are going to die, we are all going to die!"

"We won't. It's just a storm."

"We are going to drown!"

The wails of the girl who had lost her head completely grated on everyone's nerves. The ship was being thrown this way and there, as if a cruel god had decided to play ball and it had been this way for more than a day. In the light of a thunder, everyone saw how the huge banner with the sun and spear of the House Martell fell from the main mast right next to their hatchway and the next swirl of wind sent it straight into the roiling sea.

Myriah Uller wept anew. "We are going to drown!"

"Stop wailing!" Daenerys scolded her harshly. "With all this salty water around, your stream of tears crowns all!" she added in desperate humour.

The girl kept weeping but her howls went down to snuffling. Everyone was relieved. With these waves bouncing them up and down and the mass of water constantly brimming over the hull to crash against their tightly shut hatchway, the last thing they needed was Myriah's dark premonitions.

"Everyone here?" the Princess asked after they got to their feet in the aftermath of the next huge wave. "Everyone all right?"

Lady Allyrion, born Melina of Volantis, had a bruise on her forehead. Myriah's gown had torn over a nail they hadn't even noticed before. Lady Delonne Vaith was shaking her head, as if trying to gather her thoughts together after being thrown against the wall of the cabin. Ryon was looking around, wide-eyed. Daenerys had barely held him off from crashing into the hatchway.

"I'll go to see what's going on," the Princess cried, to overshout the storm. "I'll talk to the captain. I'll be right back."

"No!" Lady Allyrion screamed. "Don't go, my lady, it's too dangerous. Let me go instead."

"I'll be right back, Melina," Daenerys said and moved to the door step by step, leaning against the wall and cursing mentally the idea to go back to Sunspear by sea. Really, what was there not to like about traveling by land? They could have seen a big part of the Seven Kingdoms; they could have visited Summerhall where Daenerys had always liked going to, for it kept to her dear memories of her childhood when the young Daeron had lived there and she had spent the summers there with his family. But no, they had to go by sea and here they were, in the clutches of a storm that might have sent them all the way to the Summer Sea, for all she knew.

In front of her terrified eyes, a sailor fell overboard, his mouth opened in a soundless scream. She also screamed, could not hear either his voice or hers, so loud was the roar of the wind.

The captain, an old bear of a man and an old friend of Maron's, startled when he saw her. "My lady," he yelled, "go back to the cabin. It's dangerous here. The storm is not at its strongest yet!"

"Where are we, Ser Silar?" she yelled back as he headed towards her. "How are things going?"

Before he could answer, a new giant wave loomed over them. Ser Silar grabbed Daenerys and squeezed her between him and the helm, shielding her with his body as best as he could. For a moment, the helm cut painfully in her skin and insides but then the wave was dissipating and she was still in one piece and still on board. Some of the sailors were not this lucky.

The captain looked at her and flashed her a daring smile. "My lady," he said, "you gave me a memory to warm me up for years to come."

She laughed, grateful for his attempt to reassure her. "What's going on, Ser Silar?" she asked in the brief hush."

"The storm is very harsh but not one of our devices has been broken this far. If we can wait it out, we have a good chance of survival. If not…" He shrugged and looked around, counting with a heavy heart how many of his men the wind had dragged overboard. Again, he looked at her. "Go back to your cabin, my lady," he said. "I cannot imagine what I'd explain to the Prince if I lost you in the sea."

His words sounded very harsh. He was quite hard by nature and in the beginning, all those years ago, Daenerys had not liked him, for he'd been so different to the courtiers she had been accustomed to at King's Landing. She had not understood why Maron constantly invited him in his private chambers, at his table. _How silly I was_, she thought. _Young and silly._

"I'm going," she said and headed back to find her son looking out through the dark hatchway, horrified and fascinated. Some of the women sobbed softly but after Myriah's outburst of wailing no one made a sound. Lady Allyrion had her eyes closed. She was mouthing a prayer, the ruby shaped as heart on a silver chain that she usually kept out of sight now held to her lips.

The storm kept raging the whole day and night, and the day after that. It was already dawn on the sixth or seventh day of their trial when the ship's movements stilled. Daenerys went out to access the situation. The sky was indigo, and red, and pink, the sea so still that she could have thought the storm had never been – if she hadn't seen the broken masts, the missing pieces of the hulk. Sailors worked fervently to repair them. She sought out the captain.

"We are now closer to Tyrosh than Sunspear, as long as I can say, my lady," he said. "I don't think it wise to land there but it might turn out we have no other choice if we wanted to survive. We'll see."

Before she could answer, the sharp cry of a man in the only surviving mast over their heads startled them both. A ship was slowly coming into their vision. With a sinking heart, Daenerys recognized the black three-headed dragon on red.

* * *

The great hall, lit by hundred of torches, was painted in bright colours crashing each other as spectacularly as the clothes and hairs of many of the men present. Daenerys was stunned – was the youth she had just gone past _green_-haired? And in a red attire, no less! She had heard that Tyroshi loved bright colours but that! She made a point at not looking around as she went between the rows of tables up, followed by her ladies, her son at her side, to the dais where a single large table sat. She could not help but hear the whispers, though. No doubt Ryan could also hear them, see the craned necks of the men straining to see her, the supposed reason for the whole rebellion and their being here. She raised her chin, refusing to acknowledge that she saw and heard.

At the dais, a man slowly stood up and they locked eyes silently, a Targaryen pride clashing with a Targaryen pride. Neither looked aside.

_He's so old_, Daenerys thought, suddenly realizing how much time had passed. A whole life – her life. And his. At King's Landing, it was not so obvious because Aerys and Aelinor, Maekar, Brynden and Shiera were all so fair-haired that the white did not touch them visibly. And Maron – well, she lived with him, shared his life daily, so she did not notice his aging either. Aegor, on the other hand, had changed visibly, the most obvious difference being the white locks in his dark hair.

The silence hung heavily. All conversations in the hall gradually stopped. They were still not looking aside. She could practically read Aegor's thoughts behind the purple eyes so much like hers: _finally, the traitor is here, at my mercy, and I can make her whatever I want her to be. _Yes, she had no doubt that he considered her a traitor for not supporting Daemon's rebellion. But how could she have done it? She had loved Daemon, had wanted to be his wife. But the good of the realm always had to come first, that was why she had refused to run away with him and begged him not to do anything stupid. She had been stunned to realize that she had not mattered in the great scheme of things as much as she had thought. Daemon had still rebelled. Yet, the fact that she was not at her side deprived him of part of the support he could have otherwise counted at. Now, many years wiser, she doubted whether it had ever really been about her. Of course, that did not matter right now – all those gathered here believed it was and it was Tyrosh, the home of the Golden Company. Not Sunspear and not King's Landing.

She was surprised when Aegor finally looked aside. Maybe he had melted with age? From what they heard from their informers it was not the case but maybe his recent illness had affected him? Then, he looked at her again and he was the Bittersteel she knew. This man would never give up.

"Sister," he said smoothly and raised her hand to his lips. Daenerys did not draw it back. "What an honour to have you as my… guest."

"I hope I won't burden you for long," she replied. "As soon as our ship is repaired, we'll leave."

He gave her a look of irony. "Why are you in such a hurry? Everyone here is so eager to meet you. You know Haegon, don't you?"

A young man made a step toward them and Daenerys' head reeled. He looked so much like Daemon as she had last seen him that she was suddenly overwhelmed. He kissed her hand and she was suddenly back to reality where she was in the hands of an enemy, along with her youngest and her companions that she was responsible for, and…

"You've been to visit the family at King's Landing?" Bittersteel asked after seating her at the dais. She looked at him steadily, refusing to betray any anxiousness.

"I was going home," she said.

His eyes bore holes in her face. "Indeed. What a thing life it – once, you were so terrified of ever setting a foot in Dorne."

She smiled. "That was before I knew better," she said. "We always fear what we don't know. Such is our nature."

All around the hall, there was a wave of whispers. Aegor and Daenerys paid it no mind, focused only on each other. _This bitch_, he thought enraged. _He's dead because of her and she dares talk as if she's so happy with the result. _Daenerys wished she could scream into his face that it was him who was guilty for Daemon's death, for Daemon would have never thought to rebel if Aegor hadn't planted the idea in his head. Yes, he had been prideful. Yes, he had been scornful of the fact that he was only a bastard, albeit a legitimized one. Yes, he had despised Daeron for not being a shiny knight from bards' songs. But he would have never rebelled. He had been actually quite fond of Daeron in the beginning, before Aegor, Fireball and all those disgruntled Houses had started pushing him into thinking that the crown belonged to him.

He looked at her entourage, all torn velvets and stained silks. At least the ladies had had the chance to comb their hair before they were brought here. "Won't you introduce us to your companions?" he asked.

_To give you the information which Dornish Houses you can now blackmail_, Daenerys thought but of course, she had no choice.

Aegor was looking at a middle-aged woman at the far end of the group. "A sister I didn't know about?" he asked mockingly, referring to the deep violet eyes of the lady. "As long as I know, Father never traveled as far as Dorne."

Daenerys knew who he was talking about even without looking. "This is Lady Allyrion," she said. "She was born Lady Aletta Dayne of Starfall and they are famous for their violet eyes."

Bittersteel looked at her, eyes narrowed. She was being strange – she was talking too much. Daenerys noticed his look but before she could say anything, Ryon made a step forward and all eyes fell on him.

"And who might be this, sister?" Aegor asked, almost lazily.

Daenerys raised her chin. "This is my son," she said proudly. "Ryon Martell, Prince of Dorne."

"Ah." Bittersteel looked at the boy up and down and gave Daenerys another look of irony. "It seems that he carries nothing of our blood. What a pity."

"He takes after his father and I am happy," Daenerys said. "Now, if you'd be so kind, we'd like to retire. It's been a long day and the storm took most of our strength."

"Of course," Haegor Blackfyre said. "There are chambers ready for you and your ladies already. You should go to rest as soon as you feel tired."

Blackfyre shot him a dark look. "Not quite," he said. "We wouldn't want to be deprived of the company of such noble companions so soon. Make room for the ladies," he called to his men and the Dornish ladies had no choice but take a seat next to the exiles who would tear the realm apart as soon as they had the chance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I disclaim.**

_Thank you, Oberon Sexton, for leaving a review to this story, it really means a lot._

**A Dragon in Chains**

Chapter 2

_Two weeks later…_

"Come on," Daenerys said. "We are going to dinner."

"Do we really have to, my lady?" Myriah Uller asked. "All those men leering at us…"

"Yes," the Princess said coolly. "Absolutely."

But Myriah was far from the only one to feel this way. Daenerys remembered all too well her first impression of Dornish women, all those years ago: that they were all lewd, dressed to reveal and not conceal. The very concept of a woman getting as many lovers as any men without being frowned upon had been shocking to her, yet it was something normal for Dornish women. Until she went there, she hadn't known what a bold tongue tasted like… And now these same women felt embarrassed by the very thought of going to dine with the commanders of the Golden Company. These men were loose and impudent enough to scare even them. And Daenerys felt anything but calm sitting at Aegor's table… She was just waiting for the strike to fall.

But she could not give up, as much as she wanted to stay in the relative safety of her assigned chambers. That would mean to let it show that she was afraid. That would mean to encourage Aegor and discourage her own entourage. And she would certainly not let anyone who was not genuinely ill to stay behind. They needed to keep a brave façade, otherwise they'd break inside.

The rooms they had been given were actually quite comfortable – five bedchambers with a solar and a bath with two tubs. Daenerys had taken Ryon to sleep in her room and the other women had taken the rest of the bedchambers. They had been assigned two maids but they usually preferred helping each other. Still, they took great care to treat the women as good as they could – they might need their good will soon. The Tyroshi who were used only to rough male order seemed genuinely puzzled and flattered by the Dornish ladies' attitude.

"Get ready," Daenerys said. "I must finish the letter to my lord husband."

Ryon scowled. "But Lady Mother," he said. "Why are you writing to him at all? The traitor will read the letter before you send it."

She looked at him and smiled. At his ten years, he still had much to learn. "He surely will," she agreed.

"Then why?"

"Because," Daenerys said, "sometimes the real message is not what is writ in ink but air."

He blinked and shook his head confused. Lady Delonne asked, "You mean, you can use invisible ink?"

"No," Daenerys denied.

"Then how…"

Everyone was looking at her, very interested. She huffed. "You are asking too many questions. Get ready and let me think."

From her window, she had seen a laundress coming and going a few times. She needed to know how often the woman came and how long she stayed, as well as a few other details. They needed to act now, while Aegor was still unaware just how much of an upper hand he had.

* * *

_A week later…_

Anxious and trying not to show it, Daenerys knocked at the door and entered the bedchamber. In the oval looking glass over the dressing table she saw her own concerned face… and a face she did not recognize.

The woman sitting in front of the dressing table slowly turned back and looked Daenerys in the eye. "Well?" she asked softly, scared as always that they'd be overheard, although a few of their jewels had bought the assistance of the two maids. "What do you think? What do I look like?"

The Princess gave a careful inspection before answering. Then, despite her concern, a genuine smile lit her face. "I think," she started slowly but paused and took a deep breath. "I really think the world lost a great performer the day you were born into the wrong family, my dear. You absolutely look the part."

The young woman was really changed. Her long dark hair had lost its brilliance and hung in two greasy braids, tied with dirty ribbons. Her perfect ivory skin was now olive, as if she had spent her entire life in the sun. Her huge indigo eyes now looked round and dark, taking the shade of the dark bodice, her nose thickened with clay and mix of paint and powder. She had no cheekbones to speak of. Her lips were thin and pale. Her skirt was well padded to hide her slender frame. She did not move with her usual ease but heavily, her right shoulder sticking forward, her head bent down.

But she shook her head. "I cannot get rid of the feeling that I've overlooked something," she said and Daenerys grew cold. They couldn't afford any mistakes. She looked at her from head to toes, found nothing.

"Who is this?" Ryon asked behind his mother's back. Although initiated into the plan, he simply had trouble recognizing the beautiful lady in this pitiful creature.

She winked at him and he laughed. "No way you won't have them all fooled," he said admiringly.

"My lady," Myriah spoke urgently from the window where she stood to make sure that the men in the yard hadn't noticed how long the laundress had stayed inside this evening. "Hurry up!"

A few last hugs and a whispered promise to see each other at Sunspear later, the young woman left the chambers and stole up to the servants' quarters – a path that had been dutifully studied in advance. There, she smiled soothingly at the real laundress who would stay hidden until the next day and then leave when the guards changed so no one would take notice that they hadn't seen her coming in.

Taking the two heavy baskets of laundry, she drew a deep breath to calm down her frantic heartbeat and went out into the sun, determined to get the better of their captors. _Don't run, don't run_, she said to herself as she was making the greatest effort to emulate the heavy steps of the laundress.

* * *

_A few minutes later…_

"Are the rest of your ladies ready with their letters as well?" Aegor asked as soon as Daenerys took her seat at the dais.

"There are a few of them left," Daenerys said. "Frankly, I don't see any use of that. In my letters to my lord husband I give him news about all of us."

He gave her a grim look. She was playing him somehow. He had every letter of hers inspected for all substances that could possibly be used as invisible ink. They had never found anything. Last time, he even had her write in front of his very eyes – and even then, she had somehow deceived him. He felt it within his bones.

"I think their husbands and fathers will be relieved to hear from them in person," he said.

"These lords will be much more relieved if they could see them in person," Ryon cut in and Bittersteel gave him a dark look. He didn't appreciate being interrupted by whelps and this one looked too much like the thrice cursed Baelor for his liking. Had he been his, he would have taught him manners pretty soon but what could one expect from Dornish?

"Why are you in such a hurry to leave us, my prince?" he asked in mocking courtesy. "What is it here that you don't like?"

"The company," the boy said without hesitation, loudly and passionately. "I don't like the company of bastards and traitors to the realm."

His words echoed through the hall. Everyone stared. Bittersteel blinked. Up to this moment, the whelp hadn't been this daring. Didn't he realize that he was at the mercy of his enemy? Daenerys tugged at her son's sleeve but she couldn't hide a slight smile of pride that made Bittersteel even angrier.

They started eating, with everyone's eyes on the boy waiting to see what he'd do next.

A sudden commotion at the door brought Aegor's attention there. Two men entered flanking a slovenly hag of a woman and headed straight for him. He looked from one to the other as they saluted him. "Why have you brought her here?" he asked, disgusted.

"She was trying to escape, my lord," one of the men explained. "We caught her at the last moment. She was pretending to be the laundress… but she isn't."

Now, Aegor gave the pitiful creature a more careful look. When one knew what to look for, there was not much use of make-up. "Lady Allyrion," he said slowly. "Trying to escape."

His eyes went to Daenerys. "Ah sister," he dragged. "Is this the way you repay me for my hospitality?"

She raised her chin. "Did you really expect we'd just sit here and let you do with us whatever you liked?"

He squinted at her. "But why her?" he wondered aloud. "Why not you? It makes no sense..."

Suddenly, he spun around and grabbed the runaway by the shoulders. "Who are you?" he asked, their faces close enough to kiss.

"Let go off me," she hissed.

"Who are you?" he asked again and shook her.

"Let her go!" Ryon yelled, jumped from his seat, ran straight for Bittersteel and bumped into him.

Caugt unaware by the sudden attack, Aegor staggered backwards but regained his balance. Then, he changed his mind, sat in his seat and looked at the hall.

"Anyone who's been at Westeros for the last ten years, come forward!" he barked and a dozen men came near, staring at the woman. Then, one of them gasped.

"She! Maekar's daughter here! Gods almighty!"

For a moment, Aegor's mind went blank. He just couldn't absorb what he was hearing. After all those years of bad fortune, could they really be this lucky?"

"What did you say?" he turned to the man. "Say it again!"

"This one… is Maekar's daughter," the knight said. "Daella Targaryen. Lady Baratheon."

"Do you know her?"

"I do."

"Swear that it's her."

"I swear it."

Aegor's face was lit by sudden, savage joy but it was the fact that it did not reach his mouth that scared his captives most.

"So," he said, looking at the woman, "what do you say to this?"

For a moment, she said nothing. And then, her face suddenly changed in expression of rage and haughtiness. "Rise, Ser Aegor," she snapped. "As low as I have sunken, I still cannot abide Aegor Bittersteel sitting in my presence while I am unseated!"

The silence in the hall was now absolute. Bittersteel shook his head, his face now revealing amazement. "So, it is true," he said. "You truly are his daughter."

He stood up and gave her a mocking bow. "I am afraid I cannot offer you a seat just yet, my lady," he said. "Our chairs are too clean for your current attire."

Now, he looked at her with genuine curiosity, raised a hand and slid a finger across her cheek. She gave him a look as if he was something dirty under her shoes.

"Take your hand off my brother's betrothed!" Ryon Martell yelled.

Bittersteel looked at the tip of his finger and shook his head bemused. "It's truly a miracle what women can achieve with those," he murmured. "I am curious to see what you really look like under all this paint. Should I send for someone to wash you, my lady? Or can you do it alone?"

Again, she glared at him. "I'll manage," she said dryly.

"As soon as you do, come back here. And my lady… no women's tricks this time."

She didn't deign to answer and left, her head held high, with the utmost dignity she could muster with those cushions hampering her movements.

Daenerys looked down at her plate, feeling all too well Aegor's derisive eyes on her. Ryon gritted his teeth.

It was the change in Haegon's expression that alerted him to Daella's return. The young man was staring wide-eyed, speechless. She was approaching the dais in measured steps, her face cast in cold disdain at her surroundings. But she was beautiful and that somehow made up for her attitude. Her skin was flawless, her facial features the most delicate ever seen in a woman. Her dark hair, dried in front of the fireplace, tumbled on her shoulders in radiant waves and her indigo eyes, under the high arches of the eyebrows, through her thick eyelashes, were like a magnet keeping everyone's attention on hers.

"My lady," Haegon murmured and stood up to greet her.

Bittersteel looked as amused as he could which was not much. "I must admit that you had me absolutely fooled," he told Daenerys and sipped at his wine. "I did imagine that she'd look good, with her mother a famous Velaryon beauty and her father not looking that bad either if one could overlook the scars. _That's_ what I expected to see, not the plain old thing she had transformed into with a little paint twice over."

"Daella will be flattered that you think so highly of her, I am sure," Daenerys said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. What had happened to their clever plan! How were they going to escape now?

When Daella and Haegon reached the dais, Bittersteel stood up. "Have a seat, my lady," he said, gesturing at the chair he had had brought in for her. "I am afraid it isn't as comfortable as you are used to in the palaces your family stole along with the throne and the crown but it is something. I believe you'd find our food rather good."

The Princess looked at him coldly. _What a change from that mice-like_ Lady Allyrion, he thought. "The throne, Ser, and the palaces, and the crown have always been ours. As to the food, the bad company makes everything taste bitter. Do you have anything else to tell me?" she asked as she took her seat.

He would have smiled if he could. "I have many plans about you, my lady," he assured her. "And with time, you'll hear about most of them."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you, Bess Woodville and Oberon Sexton, for reading and reviewing.**

_A Dragon in Chains_

Chapter 3

_A few weeks later…_

Maybe the bracelet would do. Daella was just considering whether to take it off when Daenerys touched her hand and shook her head firmly, leading the younger woman away.

The woman huddled against a crumbling wall gave them a sorrowful look. The child in her lap stirred. Daella turned to look at them. The men guarding the small party started muttering half-disgustedly and half-admiringly.

"Daella," Daenerys said. "You can't save everyone. Don't you realize that here, there isn't anyone to fill your purse when you run out of money?"

Daella realized it only too well. In fact, she _had_ run out of money already and she repeatedly told herself that if they were to escape, she needed to keep a tight lid over her spending. Yet each time a beggar approached, she found herself untying the strings. She simply couldn't tolerate the sight of human suffering without trying to remedy things.

Daenerys sighed, exasperated. She didn't have anything against being charitable but Daella was taking it too far. They would need every coin they had if they were to escape. Daella should stop thinking like a privileged princess because here, she was not.

"Come on," Daenerys said. "I think we did our shopping."

They loved taking walks in Tyrosh, although they were constantly watched by some members of the Golden Company. That broke the monotony of their lives and besides, they could hear a gossip or two in the streets and especially in the market. Not to mention that paying more than their purchases cost was a good way to bribe sellers on their side. Daenerys hoped that in time, their warders would take their guard down. They had to. No men could stand to listen intently to woman talk about fabrics and threads for long without getting bored. That would give them some precious opportunities.

"My lady," a voice suddenly said and Daenerys saw with displeasure that Haegon was standing near them. He looked from Daella to the beggar-woman and made up his mind, giving her a few coins. Daenerys saw his eyes stealing a look at Daella and almost clicked her tongue in disgust. Did he really thing the girl would fall for this? Still, she had to admit that the role of a valiant knight showing mercy to women and children suited him very well.

The beggar-woman started babbling gratitude and blessings. Haegon did not look at her, though – he was still looking at Daella who silently turned her head away.

He looked disappointed. Daenerys would have smiled, had she not been thinking that he was trying too hard to impress the girl. Had he come across them by chance?

She very much doubted it.

* * *

_A few hours later…_

As usual, the Dornish ladies dined with the Golden Company, Daenerys, Daella, and Ryon on the dais. The boy was chatting to Daella about the art of falcontry that he had started learing in King's Landing and she listened to him attentively, trying to pretend that she was indifferent to all those eyes falling on her.

Bittersteel, though, had no intention of letting himself be ignored. "So," he said. "I heard you were becoming quite popular with the smallfolk, my lady. The Good Princess, they call you."

She looked at him, surprised. "Do they? I didn't know."

"They do," he assured her. "Despite your very peculiar attire."

Aegal laughed and Haegon glared at him. His brother shrugged, completely unapologetic. Bittersteel rolled his eyes, exasperated. Lately, Haegon was always quick to make a fool of himself whenever the girl was near. Of course, he could not be blamed for being quite taken with her. Daella took great pains to don only old gowns, outdated by a good twenty years but they could not change her, not when Bittersteel had forbidden any sort of paint on her face. Now she looked at him and although her expression did not change, in the brief flash in her eyes he recognized the hardness of her father.

"You are very much like your mother," he said. "She was a good lady. Really _good_. A beggar only needed to approach her, and she opened the strings of her purse. It was a good thing her husband had access to the wealth of the Iron Throne, otherwise she would have brought him to ruin."

Daella raised an eyebrow. "Am I to take it that you are against others being charitable, Ser Aegor?" she inquired.

'Not in the least," he assured her. "I am just against people who think they are better than the rest of us. Your lady mother plundered our property to indulge her whims, as lofty as they were."

Daella stopped eating, biting back the retort that the Seven Kingdoms were hardly Bittersteel's property. Haegon looked at her. "Generosity is something to be admired, my lady," he assured her and looked pointedly at Bitterstell. "Don't you agree, Ser Aegor?"

Daenerys quickly suppressed a smile. Bittersteel glared at her and then glared at Haegon. Finally, his eyes went to Daella. "I do agree," he said. "Generosity is surely something to be admired. It makes a fine asset to a queen, to be sure."

Albeit prepared that sooner or later the matter would come out, Daella saw the hall blurring around her. She summoned all her strength just to stay in her seat.

* * *

_A few weeks later…_

"So he declared that he'd wed her and make her his queen her one day, since it was obvious that his royal brother would soon die here without fathering any heirs. Bittersteel added that the Seven had sent them the perfect means to end the war and heal the wounds – a marriage that would unite the two sides, resulting in an heir that would carry the blood of both Father and Daemon."

"You seem quite taken with the prospect." With a sweep of his hand, Maekar erased the image of idyllic reconciliation that his brother was painting. "Has it escaped your notice that the throne he intends to offer Daella happens to be _yours_?"

Aerys, wisely, fell silent. Whatever he said now, his brother would interpret it in the worst way possible. No, the fact had _not_ escaped his notice. And no, he liked this prospect no better than Maekar did. But it made perfect sense for those at the other side.

He looked around. Everyone looked extremely concerned. Even Brynden could not hide his dismay fully. Aelinor's face was frozen in her attempt to look controlled. Aegon held Rhae's hand soothingly, his concern undisguised. Rhae's eyes were wide open with fear. Even Aerion did not stir mischief, for once. _Of course he wouldn't_, Aerys thought uncharitably. _It's his inheritance, too, that those across the Narrow Sea are planning to steal._ Daeron looked even more haunted than usual. Aemon was obviously trying to find a way out of this and failing. Alor Gargalen stood near Aegon and Rhae and she was speaking to him so softly that all Aerys could hear was murmuring.

Finally, Maekar turned to face them. "Go on," he said. "What happened next?"

"Daella did not take it well and made it clear. She said she was promised and she wanted no other man than Alor Gargalen. She wouldn't take Aegon the Conqueror himself if he offered, let alone a traitor and son of a traitor. That she'd rather throw herself in the sea from the highest rock in Tyrosh than even contemplating it."

A broad smile made its way across the young Lord Gargalen's face but died almost immediately. It was a good thing to hear Daella proclaiming her devotion to him in such a way but she was in their enemies' hands. They could exhort her agreement in more than one way. And she had not exactly won their favour with this bold proclamation.

"Oh Seven!" Maekar exclaimed. "Mad, she's mad. Tell me that she didn't really…"

"She did," Aerys said. "As you can imagine, Aegor was furious."

"And Haegon?" Maekar asked. "How did he take being rejected?"

On this account, at least, Aerys could alleviate his brother's fears. "Our spies all say he's smitten with her. He seems determined to win her favour. He was overheard saying that she'd marry him willingly. He's making a great show of courting her, showering her with gifts, escorting her everywhere she wants to go and so on."

'Thank the Seven for this small mercy," Rhae murmured and Alor glared at her, disagreeing in a really bad way. Aerys could see his reasoning – it couldn't be nice for him to hear of another man courting his betrothed, having declared his intention to win her heart. But he sided with Rhae on this: for now, Haegon's infatuation with Daella and knightly tales would serve as a shield for her. But for how long?

"Well, I say she won't give up," Aerion spoke. "She might look meek but she isn't. She's as hard as a horse shoe. The trouble will come when they realize that they won't have her agreement by ingratiating with her."

Alor gritted his teeth. "Gods, brother," Aegon said, very sarcastically. "Thanks for cheering us up."

"I didn't know you wanted to be lulled to calm with sweet lies," Aerion said, not too regretfully.

Maekar put an end to the fight before it even started – there was something particularly menacing in his livid face, menacing enough to make both his sons shut up and look away from each other. "We need to take them back before they realize they won't win her over," he said. Many a woman would jump at the chance of a throne, so it would make sense for the Blackfyres to presume that at the end, Daella would soften.

_But when they find out that she won't… _

"Let's discuss it tomorrow, before the meeting of the Small Council, yes?" he said abruptly, bowed and left without waiting for his brother's permission. Aerys shook his head. No doubt he'd go out of the city walls for a ride and return many hours later when he would have had both horse and himself almost dead with fatigue, exhausted enough to have no thoughts in his mind.

The others starting taking their leave, too. Alor stopped at the door when his name was called. Daeron stood up, somewhat hesitantly. "Don't worry too much," he said. His habits were leaving their toll on his drawn face. He looked older than his years, his hands unsteady, his eyes constantly puffy, yet now they seemed suddenly clear. "It won't be so bad. No matter what Haegon Blackfyre and Aegor Bittersteel are planning, at the end the bridegroom will be you."

Alor looked at him, surprised. "How do you know?" he asked.

Daeron smiled faintly. "I dreamed of it."

The Dornishman obviously knew about Daeron's dreams, because he nodded and looked a bit more cheerful. Aegon and Rhae looked at each other. Aerys knew that they, too, had caught what Alor Gargalen did not know: at the end Alor might marry Daella but Daeron hadn't seen what would happen _before_ the end came.

When everyone left, Aelinor relaxed from her stiff posture on the sofa and closed her eyes. Aerys went to the table and poured her a goblet of cherry juice with ice cubs. She took it gratefully. "I'll send someone after him," the King said.

"Don't," she advised, closing her eyes again. "He needs to be alone. In truth, I think it will be better if we don't give him a target to direct his frustration at – it won't be fair to the poor man _or_ Maekar. He'll come back… eventually."

He couldn't believe it. Hadn't she seen just how livid, helpless and scared Maekar was? In moments like this, it was _never_ a good thing to give him a free reign to do as he liked. If anything, he'd be an easy target for anyone who had decided to cut the numbers of Targaryens shorter. "We can't leave him like this."

"We have to leave him like this." She opened her eyes. "Listen, Aerys, it's his life and no one else's."

He stood in front of her. "Hear me out, Aelinor. Listen. I won't pretend I understand what's going on with Maekar because I don't. I never did. But I care no less than you do."

Her face softened. He did care. He was just not very good at expressing it. To anyone. There was more than one reason he stuck to his books – books did not require showing concern adequately. "I know, Aerys. He knows, also."

They stayed silent until the attendants came to light the candelabra, desperately trying to find a way out of this and finding none. It would all depend on Daella and how much pressure could she take.


	4. Chapter 4

_Oh yes, I'm back. You have already forgotten about this story, right? You thought it was abandoned. Well, it's moving again._

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, this is so important to an author.**

_A Dragon in Chains_

Chapter 4

_A month later…_

Daella turned her back to the noise from the courtyard and looked at the women who were sewing in their solar. "Is it this hot as Sunspear?" she asked.

The Dornish ladies looked at each other and chucked. Daenerys hid a smile. "Are you hot?" she asked politely. "It's such a nice day."

They were all swimming in their own sweat. Daella could only look at the older woman speechless. Daenerys took mercy on her, suddenly reminded how hot she had been in her few months in Dorne. She followed her to a less crowded couch in the far end of the solar. "I am jesting, child. The truth is, it's too hot even for us Dornish here." She held her embroidery frame in front of her and tsked at a few dropped stitches. Then, she smiled. "I remember when I first arrived at Sunspear to wed Maron. The women had been labouring tirelessly for weeks day and night to prepare my wedding gown, to make sure that I'd feel as comfortable as I could in their sands."

"I am sure it was lovely," Daella said, steadily refusing to even glance at the window she had just left where the officers of the Golden Company were practicing just below them in the courtyard. "I cannot imagine anything looking bad on you."

Daenerys shook her head and blushed… with unease? Now the young woman's attention was fully drawn to her. Daenerys did not look at her, though. Daella understood.

"You refused to put it on."

Daenerys looked at her steadily. "I did not want a Dornish gown, or a Dornish husband, let alone Dornish sons."

Daella shuddered. There was something in this triple denial that made her bristle with anger. Why was Daenerys telling her that? Was she threatening her? Or warning her? What was it?

"You look remarkably well-adjusted, my lady," she said, coldly. "I wonder what the Prince would think if he could hear you."

Daenerys shrugged. "Oh my lord husband wouldn't hear anything he doesn't know. It's not him I am concerned about."

"Me?" Daella asked, confused. "You are concerned about me?"

Daenerys didn't look away. "Haegon is quite infatuated with you, child. He wants to use you to reinforce his claim, for sure, but beneath that, he's sincerely taken by you. And he's quite dashing."

Daella laughed all of a sudden. So that was it? Daenerys was trying to probe whether Daella liked Haegon? He was very handsome. And he aroused about as much passion in her as did Bittersteel, with his sour face. And she had thought her father was brooding!

"Not to me, I assure you," she said. "Have no care. When I stand in front of the Septon, it will be next to Alor. And I am impatient to start preparing for my wedding, not my coronation."

"You'd better be," someone said from behind.

The two women turned as one. Aegor Bittersteel was giving them a mocking look. "How dare you enter my presence without begging for permission!" Daella snapped.

He didn't bother answering. Instead, he slowly went to the window, making the Dornish women step away – well, not all of them. Melina Allyrion looked at him, irritated, and did not move. He sidestepped her and looked through the window.

"Won't you come watch?" he asked.

"I am not interested," Daella said coolly.

"I see," he said. "I recommend that you start cultivating… interest."

His drawl resembled her husband's too much for her liking. Daella's fingers closed in fists but she forced them relax. She would not let him see that he had made her uneasy.

He seemed to know it anyway, for he headed for the door with the air of men who had achieved what he wanted.

And the small mocking smile did not leave his lips for a moment.

* * *

_A few hours later…_

"She seems to get used to this."

"Do you think so?"

In the candlelight of Haegon's own chamber the young man looked wrapped in silver halo that enhanced his fair hair. He looked like the Warrior come alive – just like Daemon, once. And just like Daemon, he was a hopeless optimist.

"She didn't even look at you while you were swaggering below her windows."

"I was practicing…"

"Well, whatever," Aegor said. Of course, Haegon _had_ been practicing. He had been demonstrating his prowess where Daella could see him for weeks. What was to follow, a tournament in front of her windows? The men had already started muttering. Haegon had started making changes, keeping their most capable officers for the sole purpose of showing off in front of the captive ladies. There were cities to be taken, contracts to be made, discipline to be kept – and all that was in turmoil because, obviously, a single look from Daella Targaryen was more important. If only she had looked, at least!

"She's very lofty," Aegor said and took a swig of his goblet. It was strange to think that twenty years ago, he would have preferred horse sweat to it. Now he enjoyed local wine as much as he had once enjoyed Dornish red. "She is, this daughter of Maekar's, for all her pretended goodness. You'll have to break her haughtiness."

Haegon looked away. "How?" he asked. For all his unwillingness to admit it to Bittersteel, he was beginning to despair. Daella let him talk but didn't listen to him; accepted his help but never asked for it; tolerated his presence but never showed any delight to see him. Her brief comments showed her unshakable certainty that she was in the hands of enemies – which they were, just not hers – and traitors – which they most certainly were not. She treated him as a captor, as if he and not the storm had wrecked her ship single-handedly. On the other hand, with each day he became more infatuated. There was nothing about her he didn't like – her generosity, her elegance, her feeling of duty to her ladies, her fierce loyalty to her family… her beauty. She was the wife he had always dreamed of. She was the queen he would place on the Iron Throne next to him.

And she did not want either him or his crown.

"How?" he asked again.

"By force."

Haegon looked at him sharply. "Don't jest about that, Ser Aegor," he said. "Don't."

"Who's jesting?" Aegor asked and then lost it. "Don't you see what you're doing? People say that your father lost his life for a woman and they'll say the same about you with more reason!"

Haegon stood mute. Of course, he couldn't say anything to deny it. Enraged, Aegor started speaking truths without sparing him. "You'll have to break her arrogance by force. There is no other way. Under all her manners and sweet looks, she's as obstinate as her father and that one could be broken only in death… She's your property and you should enjoy her beauty without feeling any obligation. She doesn't want to be your wife and queen? Make her your mistress then! You have to. The men are already talking. For now, they are saying that you're besotted but it won't be long before they start screaming, 'Our prince is weak. He cannot deal with a mere woman and we expect him to deal with the entire host of Westeros?'"

Shaming Daella… Haegon knew what she had gone through in her marriage. The thought of throwing her in bed while she screamed in horror made him cringe.

"No," he said. And then again, "No."

He would not dishonour Daella. He wanted to have her at his side as his wife and queen. She just needed to overcome the pain of separation from her home. For a moment, the thought of the young lord she was betrothed to crossed his mind but he chose to chase it away. Alor Gargalen was Maekar Targaryen's choice, not Daella's own. And considering how his _first_ choice of a son in-law had turned out, maybe Daella would be only too happy to stay away from the second one. It was just her feeling of duty that kept her insisting that she loved and wanted the Prince of Dorne's bastard.

Aegor hadn't really expected him to follow his sound advice. The woman had made a full-fledged fool out of Haegon without even trying too hard. And his head was too muddled with songs and tales of chivalry – let alone his father's noble and foolish acts – to act practically. Aegor, though, wouldn't throw their chances to the wind because Haegon was taken by a pretty face.

"Come on," he said. "We need to talk to the red priests."

Haegon who had drunk a little turned sober in the blink of an eye. He looked at Bittersteel with stunned eyes. These fire-lovers were someone the Golden Company had always kept well away from, and with good reason. They were insane, that was it. And they were fond of burning people.

"The red priests?" he asked. "What for?"

Aegor gave him a dark look. "About the wedding gift we'll present your queen with."

* * *

_Two weeks later…_

"The red priests?" Maekar repeated. Of all the things in the world that might stun him into silence, this was the one he had never expected. He was so surprised that he forgot to raise his voice impatiently. "Aegor is getting friendly with the red priests now? What in the seven fucking hells does this son of a drunken whore in mind? Sorry, ladies," he went on without pausing. "I didn't mean to…'

"We'll survive," Aelinor assured him dryly. Rhae's eyes were very wide. This was one of the very few times she heard her father use some expressions she imagined his host used frequently.

"What deal is he trying to strike with them?" Maekar went on and started pacing around the room. "There must be a deal. And just when they have Daella? I like this timing not."

"No one knows. They keep it a secret, it seems. Our spies could find nothing," Aerys said, looking up from the letter on his desk.

"Are you sure? Look again," Maekar insisted and then crossed to his brother and snatched the letter to check himself, as if he didn't trust Aerys to notice all, as if he expected to find a full explanation neatly written for them to see. Then, he startled. "Are you fine?" he asked. The hand he had brushed with his fingers was so, so cold.

"Yes," Aerys said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," the King said again in voice that showed he had no intention to discuss it further.

Maekar complied and resumed walking, reading the letter. Some passages, he murmured aloud when they looked especially confusing to him. "Ordered… an inventory of the treasury… meeting with old merchant families… inspecting family trees and Valyrian history… buying dragon eggs… heard to speak about royal blood once…"

"Royal blood?" Ser Galend of High Hill suddenly interrupted. Everyone looked at him, startled. They had never seen him this pale. He looked… scared. "Read that again! Are you sure it says 'royal blood'? Is the spy sure?"

He looked so terrified that the others immediately felt terrified themselves. "Yes," Maekar said. "And yes. What of that?"

"He means to try and hatch dragons," Ser Galend said, with absolute certainty. He had been born in Essos, had become a war prize at twelve. That was how he had found himself in Maekar's service. He never spoke about his past life but he knew more about the red priests that he usually let on. In fact, he never mentioned them and if someone else did, he did his best not to listen. They weren't exactly a happy memory in his mind.

Now, his eyes moved from the King to Maekar and then, to Aelinor and Rhae. Finally, he stared at Alor Gargalen who stared back with mounting horror.

"They believe that royal blood is needed to hatch the dragons," Ser Galend said.

"Daella?" Alor somehow managed to speak.

The older man shook his head. "For the Seven's sake, boy, you can do better than that! He wants to wed her to Haegon, not kill her. No, he has the perfect sacrifice to offer, someone hale and hearty, on the brink of youth, in the very beginning of real life, carrying the blood of the Rhoynish line and old Valyria."

"Help me!" Aelinor cried. Rhae had passed out and now the Queen was straining to hold her on the couch.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you keep me going._

_A Dragon in Chains_

Chapter 5

_A month later…_

"I don't like it."

Daella gave the older woman a startled look and let go of the curtain she was peeking stealthily behind from at the leaving men-at-arms. "Why?" she asked and looked back at the courtyard. "I, for one, am pleased that they are leaving. Haegon is becoming more insistent by the day. This war with Pentos will keep him occupied, at least."

Their ladies started nodding emphatically.

Daenerys shook her head. She could not explain rationally the primal fear she felt at the very thought that they were to stay here, with Aegor. Sure, Haegon and the others hated Targaryens and felt that they had been wronged by them. But Aegor… He gave back ten times worse to what he received. And he hated Daeron's descendants with passion that surpassed even Maekar's hatred towards him. He felt cheated because Shiera had chosen Brynden. He was ruthless and bothered by no scruples at all, for he believed that what he wanted was the right thing, always. To him, the end justified the means and everyone who suffered meanwhile was just a collateral damage. _Was the grass truly red?_ Daenerys had asked once. _Yes_, Baelor had answered curtly. Redgrass Field. The field of death. She was sure Aegor felt no remorse, just anger for Daemon's death.

And now Haegon was leaving to honour the Golden Company's contract with the Pentoshi magisters and they would be left with Aegor. As troubling as the young man's passion for Daella was, he had been shielding them from Aegor. Daenerys could not explain how she knew that her half-brother's slow physical decline for the last decade had turned him bitter yet, more dangerous yet. She just did. They were of the same blood. _The same poison_, as she had heard people whisper in her first months at Sunspear when she had been still weeping for Daemon and refusing to let go, to try and get used to Maron and Dorne. The two of them understood each other perfectly without words.

"Are you saying goodbye, my lady?" Aegor suddenly spoke behind them and Daella instinctively dropped the curtain but managed to stop before she jumped back.

"You're mistaking your wishes for reality, Ser Aegor," she said, turned slowly back and gave him a look that could freeze fire. But not Aegor Bittersteel.

"My lady," he said. "Here, my wishes _are_ reality."

She smiled. "Are they? Well, they are not my reality."

"They'd better be," he said and seated himself in the chair Daella had recently vacated. She lifted the curtain and stared out of the window, this time without hiding. The leaving horses and men left a trail of dust that followed the line like a huge snake. "Do you still hope that you'll get help from Westeros? You'd better forget it. Right now, Maekar has greater worries on his mind. The Seven Kingdoms need help, more urgently than his daughter does."

Daella shrugged. If that was his way of trying to scare her, he was far off the mark. She didn't know whether she believed him about the Seven Kingdoms needing help but if it was true, than she would expect nothing less of her father. For all comforts and luxuries she had been raised in, for all her fine gowns and everyone bowing to her, there was only one thing demanded of her: that when the Seven Kingdoms needed help, she would have to wait. She had been sacrificed once and she fully expected to be sacrificed once again, albeit not if Maekar had the tiniest bit of choice. Still, the thought of not knowing, having no idea what was going on there scared her.

"Aerys is ill, they say," Bittersteel said.

His obvious delight in the words made her sick. It was one thing to anticipate the advantages that Aerys' weakened state would bring to them but there was more to it, a gloating pleasure that was disgusting to watch. Daella felt certain that her uncle had never done a thing to earn such hatred on King Aegon's bastard's part. Maekar yes, easily. She could just picture those two together as children and young men. The Red Keep had been too small to contain them, it was a sure thing. Maekar would have done things to provoke Bittersteel's bad will. But Aerys not, never. He was too engrossed in his books, too kind to deliberately provoke someone, although he could be quite awkward in social situations.

"And that makes you so happy, Ser, right?" she snapped before she could stop herself. "What a lovely Westeros we're going to have if, by any chance, you succeed with those hopeless plans of yours and place Haegon on the iron Throne. A puppet king and a mastermind who takes delight in the misfortune of others whose only fault is that they are his betters. That's, if you outlive my uncle. After all, you have been ailing for the last five years or so."

Bittersteel and Daenerys both gaped at her at the most undignified way. Daella who was always self-controlled and avoided being rude sometimes showed her combined Rhoynish and dragon heritage in a most spectacular way and that reminded them of Princess Myriah's dramatic clashes with her goodfather, King Aegon IV. Myriah had been the only woman he couldn't cower into silence either with his power or his barbed tongue. She gave back the same grief she was given, sometimes not caring about time and place.

The founder of the Golden Company nodded. "You're right, my lady," he said. "I might not have long to live, indeed. That's why I must speed things up, even if the manner I solve the problem is not one to a princess' liking."

Daella swallowed, not liking what he hinted at, never deigning to ask. They were like reflections of each other, indigo eyes against indigo eyes, dark hair against dark hair, fierce pride against fierce pride, Targaryen fire against Targaryen fire_. They could be father and daughter_, Daenerys thought, suddenly sickened. _She looks more like Aegor than her own father. _Haegon, on the other hand, resembled Daemon very much, yet he looked more like Maekar at this age. He even preferred mace and from Daenerys' remarkably limited knowledge of warfare, his style was just like the Prince's.

_Life threads so entangled that they cannot be thorn asunder._ Not at Redgrass Field. Not now. Would they ever be free of this curse that forced them to destroy one another?

The sun had not set yet when Daella and Daenerys were separated from their attendants. The ladies were dressed up in rough clothes and ordered to break flax and wash linens. The first blood came before the second hour was over.

"Why are you doing this?" Daella asked, giving Bittersteel a confused look when he visited them next.

"To break your arrogance. You'll suffer the same if you do not become more agreeable."

She laughed scornfully. Daenerys shook her head. She knew Aegor wasn't jesting.

* * *

_A week later…_

It was a cold rainy afternoon when Maekar returned to King's Landing. He ordered a bath and headed for the King's chambers – and almost walked straight into little Duncan who was just jumping from the high sideboard to the near coach, over the marble floor.

Maekar caught him in the air, cold with horror. The child could break his head in no time at all. He shook him angrily. "Never do it again," he snapped.

Far from intimidated, Duncan grinned at him, his teeth shining white against his dark Dornish face. "You are back!" he cried out and squeezed him tightly.

Maekar huffed. Things were not looking good if he could not teach a five-year-old some respect. The Seven knew that at this age, Aegon had not been this presumptuous. Maekar looked around to make sure that there was no one looking at them and sniffed the boy's hair, making him laugh.

"I was going around the room," Duncan explained. "Not touching the floor."

"I see," Maekar said and remembered that he and his brothers had played at this, too, once. Only, it had been exciting then. Now it was terrifying. "Don't do it again," he said again, without too much hope that his grandson would listen. Still, maybe Duncan will refrain when Maekar was in the room.

Not too far from the fireplace, Jaehaerys was making hesitant steps towards his mother's outstretched arms. Maekar smiled at that. Recently, the child had run a fever that had stripped him of his hardly learned walking skills and they had started teaching him again. At the sight of his grandfather, he beamed in a smile that revealed a new tooth. Rhae smiled as well, but she looked exhausted, not even noticing what her oldest was doing. Maekar knew what ailed her, the fear whether she'd be able to keep her youngest child with them. Jaehaerys suffered his maladies so hard that each time they feared that it would be his last.

"Welcome home, Father," she said without rising.

Near the fireplace, Aerys sat in his chair, his rheumy eyes so red-rimmed that the purple was almost drawn in scarlet. His facial features were pained, sagged. Maekar immediately realized that he had taken a good deal of opiate that was just starting to produce its effect.

He looked so changed that Maekar startled and couldn't conceal it. It had been only a month since their last meeting but Aerys looked aged with years. Never the picture of blooming health, he had always been of moderately good constitution nonetheless. Now, it looked as if his skin was too big for his face, falling in heavy folds of pain. _He's dying, _Maekar realized and made an effort to school his face in his usual stern expression as he came near and bowed.

"Don't bother," Aerys said, slurring the words ever so slightly.

"What?"

"Don't bother to hide your surprise… I know what I look like."

Maekar looked aside. Had he been so obvious? Or… had Aerys been sicker than they had known for longer than he had let on?

"I'm sorry."

A slight smile played across the King's lips, pained but full of sudden mischief. Maekar was unexpectedly reminded how triumphant he had felt when he had managed to make his ever so serious brother to do something unbecoming when they were children. "That's the fourth time I've ever heard you saying that."

Maekar looked at him incredulously. "You've counted?"

"No, I just made the figure up." Aerys' smile disappeared. "Take a seat."

Maekar did. Aelinor rose and started pouring him a goblet but he stopped her. He had been riding since dawn without stopping for a rest; if he drank now, he'd fall asleep right where he was. She nodded and went to the sideboard, her limp more pronounced. With a new pang in his heart, Maekar wished that he hadn't come back at all.

Aelinor returned with the water and took her seat back. "I met with Stark at Riverrun," Maekar said. "I promised him a good deal of men-at-arms to help him keep the krakens at bay. Arryn was there, too, I think we can start some negotiations for using his harbor…"

Aerys nodded and for a few minutes, he seemed focused on what Maekar was saying; but then, his eyelids started drooping, his eyes would go again and again at the children who were now playing together. The milk of poppy was starting to work. Aelinor rose and stood behind Aerys; silently, he leaned back against her and she placed her hands on his temples, rubbing gentle circles. Maekar remembered that she had done the same to him long ago, when they were all young and ever so rarely bothered by ailments. There was something soothing in the touch of her hands, although he couldn't say what it was.

He had never seen her doing it to Aerys, though. It seemed that during his absence, they had finally made their peace, returned to their one time sibling relationship, the one they had enjoyed before their forced wedding. He bit his lip, realizing what that meant. Aelinor nodded that he could now stop talking as if there was nothing out of order. Only when he did, he realized that his throat had gone dry and drank from his goblet of water.

"The crotchet-hook," Aerys whispered. Maekar looked at him. The purple-red eyes that met his were wide with horror, staring at something Maekar could not see.

"What?" Maekar asked, stunned.

"It's nothing," Aelinor said firmly, stroking Aerys' hair. "It's all right," she murmured. "It's all right. We're all right now. Sleep. There's no hook. Do you hear me? It's all right. Hush now."

Rhae rose and motioned for the children's nursemaid who immediately took them out. The young woman then came near. Her father took her aside. "What's going on?" he asked. "Since when is he like this? What's the hook he's talking about?"

Rhae started wringing her hands. "I don't know. In the last two weeks, he got worse all of a sudden. His headaches are so bad that sometimes the only thing that can help is the milk of poppy. Still, he insists that he takes it only once a day. When it starts producing its effect, he lives in his past. He makes no difference between Aunt Aelinor and me. And Aegon is Aegon, and you, and Grandfather… Everyone. I don't know where the crotchet-hook comes from but it obviously scares him. He always speaks of blood. I thought you might know…"

Behind them, Aerys' ramblings became softer. Maekar tried to remember what he might be talking about and came up with nothing. He hadn't suspected that his brother _knew_ what a crotchet-hook looked like. He shook his head.

Rhae went on, "And… I believe seeing the children is the part of the day that keeps him alive. He insists on dressing and sitting near the fireplace while they are playing. It is as if he's reconciled."

Reconciled with dying. Suddenly, Maekar was overwhelmed with such fury at the idea that without thinking, he spun around, not knowing what he would say. No doubt it would be something incongruous, maybe even cruel to the dying man.

Instead, he saw that the King was already asleep in his chair. Aelinor stepped back and looked at Maekar. "Help me get him to bed," she said and he obeyed.

Rhae left the chamber silently. Aelinor and Maekar undressed Aerys and tucked him in. "He's going to sleep until midnight," she said, wearily.

"Midnight?" Maekar asked, surprised. "Isn't that too short?"

The Queen shrugged and started rubbing her aching hip – a sign that she was really exhausted. She never did it when there was someone else in the room, someone who could see her. Now, she was too tired to realize what she was doing.

"I'd rather have him sleep till morning but he's adamant that it can be a few hours at most at one time." She sighed. "The thought of soiling the bed in his sleep is too much for him."

"I see."

_Do you really?_ she thought to herself. Maekar was pretty good at holding the others to standards that he did not hold himself to. In Aerys' place, he would have been no different, yet he now expected their brother to think of his health first and his pride second and would show no understanding, blinded by what he believed was right. He was never the most considerate of men and he could hardly become one now. In fact, his concern would make him even harsher in his behavior. Even more unlikeable. But even so, Aerys would want him here. Aelinor certainly did. Maekar was, as it happened ever so often, brooding, mistaken, lacking any tact but it did not make her angry, on the contrary, it made her tender towards him, for as exacting as he was to the others, he was just as exacting to himself. They needed each other. And soon, it would be only the two of them left.

"Come on," she said. "Let me tell you about the negotiations we're holding with the red priests."


End file.
